a beast for two
by nobody nowhere
Summary: in which Tyler Breeze just wants to go home after a loss to Adrian Neville, but of course nothing can ever just work out the way it's supposed to around the Man That Mother Nature Forgot to Make Good-Looking.


this is shippy and dumb as hell, but the idea of these two together has been kicking around in my head ever since that one promo about playing games and men that mother nature forgot to make good-looking. yeah, you know the one - and if you don't, just search Youtube for 'Breeze Neville promo' and it should be the first result

continuity-wise, the first part is set immediately after the Breeze/Neville match on the 19/2/14 episode of NXT, which is the one immediately preceding the Arrival live event, and the second part is set during the Arrival broadcast (just pretend there's a match between the Breeze/Woods no-contest and the Neville/Dallas main event ladder match, okay? or that HBK waffles on for a bit longer than he actually does)

(disclaimer: I don't actually hate Corey Graves despite all the evidence to the contrary in this story; also, the ambush is completely made up and the points don't matter, guys)

* * *

Tyler has it all planned out in advance – he's going to win the match because he has more talent in one strand of hair than most people have in their entire bodies, and Adrian Neville is not going to touch his face, because _no_. But of course, nothing works ever works out the way it's supposed to when he's around the other man. Approximately ten minutes after the bell rings, Tyler is flat on his back, ribs aching and head spinning, and Adrian is draped across the top of him with a leg hooked as the ref counts the one-two-three and the bell rings, signalling a victory.

He's lost. It takes a few moments to sink in, mostly because everything just hurts. Neville might not be a very tall man, but he's bulky for his size, and also a master of the ridiculous twisting, flipping nonsense that gives him all kinds of momentum as he comes down from the top rope. Tyler's eaten a few finishers in his day, but he'll be damned if the Red Arrow isn't one of the most instantaneously painful moves he's ever taken a hit from. Not that he'll ever admit that aloud, especially not to its master, but he can own to it in the privacy of his own thoughts well enough.

Rolling out of the ring, it's the blaring of Neville's music over the sound system that drives it home. Kneeling on the floor, holding his ribs and glaring at the other man, Tyler takes no small measure of satisfaction in the fact that Neville's obviously still woozy on his feet from some of the nastier shots Tyler had managed to get in during the match. It doesn't take away the sting of losing, but at least he has the satisfaction of knowing that the Man That Mother Nature Forgot to Make Good-Looking has been made just that much uglier, courtesy of Tyler himself.

The match is over, and Tyler fully intends to just take himself back to his locker room, have a quick shower to wash the sweat and grime of the match from his body, and then head back to his hotel room and pamper himself for a few hours. Of course, he no sooner makes it halfway down the hallway past gorilla than he manages to walk into the midst of a brawl between Neville and Graves.

Although it really seems like more of a blindsided ambush instigated by the latter, if the way Neville slumps dazed against the wall is any sort of indication. Graves looks up, filthy and animalistic and snarling, and really, Tyler should just keep walking. His ribs still hurt, he's only just now starting to catch his breath again after all of Neville's body weight and then some came crashing down upon him for the Red Arrow, and it is only Neville, after all.

Except for the strange part where, really, even despite the ridiculous ears and dumb facial hair and uggo taste in clothing and the silly accent, Adrian Neville is actually nowhere near the worst person on the NXT roster for being a complete uggo. The realisation makes Tyler extremely uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as looking at Corey Graves makes him, because does that man even know what a shower is meant to be used for?

That makes the decision for him, if nothing else. Scowling in distaste, Tyler spins around with a kick aimed squarely for Graves's head, and manages to catch the other man fair in the ear. Graves recoils with a blistering litany of curses as Neville groans weakly, and finally somebody else seems to notice the scuffle, because Tyler can hear the distant sound of feet thumping against the concrete of the floor as someone hurries their way.

Tyler is careful to place himself between Graves and Neville, though not directly so – if Graves looks set to absolutely on trying to murder somebody, well, he really doesn't like Neville enough to take a bullet for him. His intervention here is mostly contingent upon Graves slinking off now that he's lost the element of surprise, or somebody else chasing the sleazy, greasy filth-monger away at no risk to Tyler's continued good looks. He knows where his priorities lie, and the temporary insanity he's apparently just been overcome by isn't going to stop him from maintaining his aesthetic superiority at all costs.

Thankfully, Graves apparently decides discretion is the better part of valour, though that may have something to do with the rapidly approaching footsteps, and before anybody else can arrive upon the scene, he's skulking away as predicted, stopping only to shoot both Tyler and Neville a vicious glare over his shoulder before he makes his escape.

No doubt that will come back to bite him in the relatively near future, and Tyler makes a mental note to pay forward any harm suffered to Neville, if Graves can man up long enough to actually confront someone without blindsiding them first.

Naturally, the first person to arrive to investigate all the fuss is none other than CJ Parker, because that just seems to be how Tyler's luck is going today. The stupid would-be hippie takes one look at Tyler standing over Neville's still-slumped form, and instantly kneels down between them. As if that would actually stop Tyler if he really wants to hurt Neville, but nobody has ever accused Parker of being particularly intelligent.

"Damn, Breeze, and here I was thinking that not even you could stoop this low, man. Just because you couldn't beat him in the ring, huh?"

"If you knew me half as well as you seem to think you do – and I'm thankful every day that you don't – you would know that I don't waste my time with attacking uggos backstage just because I lost a match. I mean, really – if I'm going to attack somebody from behind after a match, it's going to at least be out at ringside so that people can see me."

"It wasn't him," Neville wheezes, managing to just about right himself with Parker's help, even if he's leaning rather heavily on the other man in order to do so. "Despite all the verbal masturbation, Breeze is telling the truth. This was all Corey Graves, and strangely enough, Tyler actually stepped in to try and stop it. I don't know why, but he did."

"Well, not even you deserve to get manhandled by somebody who has obviously never met a shower in his entire life," Tyler says derisively, and even Parker can't seem to help a reluctant grin, because if truer words have ever been spoken about Corey Graves, then Tyler would very much like to hear them. "Now, if it was just about anybody else you'd be on your own, but I make an exception for the living grease-pit."

"Oh, well, thank you," Neville says, and maybe it shouldn't be so surprising, but he actually sounds genuinely grateful, if a little unsure. Tyler blinks, mildly taken aback, and Parker sighs but steps back as Neville hauls himself to his feet. "And you too, CJ; your concern is appreciated. I should be fine from here now, though."

"If you're sure, man."

Parker sounds doubtful but dutifully backs away all the same, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder at Tyler until he rounds a corner and vanishes from sight. Without anybody now to lean upon, Neville simply falls back against the wall, tilting his head back at a ridiculous angle and closing his eyes to breathe deeply for a few moments.

"You look stupid like that," Tyler informs him, and Neville opens his eyes in a stare that reads as extremely unamused from where Tyler's standing. "If it hurts that much, sit down again, geez. It's not like Graves is going to come back and try his luck again. And if he did, I'd kick him in his uggo face this time, and with any luck I might even break his nose."

"How far is your locker room?" Neville asks, completely ignoring everything that Tyler and just said – and Tyler would hit him, just for that, but then his face pales alarmingly and Tyler finds himself somehow insinuating himself under the shorter man's shoulder as he nearly collapses back to the ground. "Please, I need – I'm not doing this out here, okay? I just need – I just gotta –"

"Yeah, okay," Tyler says, wrapping his arm around Neville's back and all but hauling him forward. "God, anyone would think you were the one who lost the match, not me."

Neville manages a small huff of amusement at that, and Tyler has just enough time to wonder where the hell all the useless members of the backstage crew are right now, since the hallways are usually crowded with them during a broadcast, but then they're at his locker room already and he dismisses the thought as irrelevant. He manages to brace Adrian between himself and the wall so that he can open the door, helped by Neville hooking a leg around his own for balance, and then he's hauling the other man inside in order to dump him on the nearest level surface he can find. In this particular instance, it's a spongy leather couch, and Adrian collapses into it with a long groan.

"Would you like me to find a trainer?"

"Nah, 'll be fine in a bit." It sounds rather slurred – more like 'elba fehn nabet' than anything actually intelligible – given that his face is pretty much buried in the arm of the sofa, but honestly, it's no worse than how he normally sounds with his silly accent anyway. "Just need to wait for me head to stop spinning so much. Dunno if you saw it, but Corey rang me bell pretty damn well when he ambushed me."

"No, I managed to miss that," Tyler replies, taking a seat at the vanity he has specifically requested that any locker room assigned to him is equipped with. So long as he has a vanity and his own shower, he's not too fussy about what room he gets – besides, he knows Full Sail only has a handful of private locker rooms with their own showers in the building they use for the tapings, so he's guaranteed a decent deal no matter what.

Bo Dallas gets one by dint of being the champion, and the Ascension could have one if they wanted it, but they never really seem to care much for anything too close to the hustle and bustle of producing a wrestling show. But they're probably weird creepy sex demons or something, so he generally doesn't really worry too much about them if they're not around. Paige generally gets her own as well, but that still leaves two or three spare for them to assign to Tyler – and really, even if it inconvenienced everybody else in the building, he wouldn't care very much anyway.

A quick glance towards the sofa shows that Neville hasn't moved since they arrived in the room, so Tyler sets to work on trying to fix his hair, which is all kinds of messed up after the match. It's ridiculously unfair that Neville gets to come out of the match with his stupid mop somehow looking better than what he went in as, but Tyler, who actually cares for his appearance, now has to waste ten minutes trying to tease his own hair back into some semblance of order to complement the rest of his natural gorgeousness.

"I hate you," Tyler says loudly, arranging himself on his chair so that he can catch the movement in his peripheral vision when Adrian manages to lift his head just far enough to blink in confusion over the edge of the sofa arm. "You don't even care what you look like, and yet you've got the hair that comes out of a match looking better than when you went into it. I mean, your haircut is stupid and you couldn't pay me to have it, but it's still not fair."

"I'm sorry," Neville says, in a tone that very much belies his words. "This is coming from a male model who hasn't yet grasped the importance of layers to the hair style he's trying to pull off."

"What would you know about hair-styling?" Tyler demands, both astounded and offended by the revelation that Neville actually even knows what layers are. "And for your information, the last time I tried to have layers put through I had to go to a different salon than my usual and they completely messed it up, so my normal hairdresser had to just cut them out altogether, and so here I am, in full-blown recovery mode."

"I'll admit, I stole that one from Paige," the other man says, shrugging as he eases up into a sitting position. Much of the colour has come back to his face now, and he hugs a knee to his chest as he meets Tyler's gaze levelly. "Got you going though, didn't it?"

"You can leave any time you like," Tyler sniffs, pointedly turning his back. The strands of hair around his face aren't quite sitting right, so he devotes a few moments to trying to arrange them artfully before giving it up as a lost cause – really, at this point, the best thing he can probably do is just head home, have a shower, and let it dry in its own time.

"I did mean it before, you know."

Adrian's voice sounds from far closer than Tyler is expecting, and he spins around in surprise to find that at some point while he was preoccupied with styling his hair, Neville has managed to cross the room to lean over the back of his chair, hands gripping the arms tightly and boxing Tyler in neatly. The other man leans back just enough that they don't knock heads due to Tyler's flailing, then moves back in again, well and truly within his personal space and apparently not at all apologetic about it.

"You really are a very pretty man, aren't you?" Adrian says, so quietly he almost doesn't and probably isn't meant to hear it at all, and Tyler's not at all sure how to react to that, but Neville moves on before he has a chance to do anything more than blink stupidly. "I'm actually talking about the gratitude, though, Tyler. I don't have the foggiest idea what Corey Graves intended to do to me earlier, but I am sure it would have been a whole hell of a lot worse if you hadn't decided to step in. I still don't know why you decided to interfere, but even sol – and I really hate to be saying this, but it is only fair – I owe you one, okay?"

"I'll remember that," Tyler murmurs, looking up through several runaway strands of hair to meet Adrian's oddly intent gaze.

And really, this is just all kinds of strange, especially after that comment about his appearance – because while Tyler naturally cares highly for how he looks, very few other people in this place seem to have the same level of regard for his own beauty as he does, and he certainly wouldn't have pegged Adrian Neville as somebody who really notices such things. Not after the man threatened to punch him in the face last week, and particularly not after the match they just had earlier tonight.

His mind is playing strange tricks on him, Tyler thinks, because Adrian's eyes look especially bright right now, even though between that curly mop he calls hair hanging all over his face and his head blocking much of the direct light, they really shouldn't. Tyler can't decide if they're actually hazel or green in colour, and god, why is that even a thing he's noticing, let alone worrying about? This is stupid; it's only _Neville_, the man can't even dress himself properly, so why does Tyler even care to notice that he smells like some subtle combination of sweat and musk and manufactured fabric that really should be a whole lot more distasteful than he currently finds it?

"I really don't like owing people," Adrian murmurs, licking his lips nervously, and Tyler tries not to be distracted by that. He really shouldn't be distracted by that – but damn it, he's very much distracted by that, and really, without those ridiculous ears to detract from it, Adrian's face isn't quite so unfortunate from this angle. "If there's anything I can do for you, I'd prefer you let me know sooner rather than later, alright?"

Later on, Tyler is going to blame this on lingering head trauma from their match, because there is no way that he would ever do such a thing when he's in his right mind. As it stands, though, Tyler blinks slowly and lifts his face, tilting his head to the side so that their noses won't bump when he leans up for a kiss.

Adrian stiffens momentarily, presumably in shock, and Tyler's about to give it up for the temporary flight of insanity that it is when Neville suddenly wedges his knee between Tyler's thigh and the edge of the chair and leans down, pressing forward insistently and sighing into the kiss. It's completely unexpected, but Tyler doesn't waste time wondering about it, although the 'pretty boy' comments make ever so much more sense now in light of this discovery. Adrian is an eager kisser, if not an overly spectacular one, and Tyler skims one hand up the outside of the thigh braced against his, just to see what the other man does.

Adrian doesn't disappoint, breaking the kiss to breathe out a short, sharp exclamation half under his breath, and Tyler lets his hand linger over Neville's hip briefly as they regard each other warily for several moments.

"That's, ah, not quite what I was expecting," the other man says slowly, and Tyler's ready to take offence whether it was intended or not, because that's probably going to be much easier than trying to actually deal in a mature, adult manner with the fact that he just kissed Adrian Neville. "I mean, it's probably better than most of the alternatives, but, uh. I'd better – I should probably be going now."

"If you want to," Tyler says, as if it doesn't really matter either way to him, because it really shouldn't. He only kissed the man; it's not like that really means anything in the long run, except that he should probably visit the trainer to make sure he doesn't have any concussion symptoms. "You're the one freeloading off my generosity, after all."

Adrian's halfway to the door already, but he turns back for a moment to level Tyler with a hard, piercing stare. "Well, then, if that's how you're going to be. You can call it whatever you want to, Tyler, but don't forget that you're the one who kissed me." The door clicks shut behind him almost gently, and then Tyler's left alone to stare at his reflection in confused, angry silence.

Because really, what else can he do? After wrestling a short, hard-hitting match with the man, he somehow went from resenting Adrian to kissing him, and there's not a single universe in which that actually makes sense as something Tyler Breeze would do. But it is a thing that he's done, and now Neville doesn't even have the decency to be half as flattered as he should be, that Tyler lowered himself so far as to kiss an uggo like him.

Honestly, it's just rude, and it's so very typically Neville that Tyler can't even really manage to be properly angry about it. Irritated, yes and frustrated, absolutely – but somehow, strangely; impossibly, he's not _angry_, and it's almost enough to make him want to find CJ Parker just so that he can hit the idiot repeatedly with the Beauty Shot until everything starts making sense again.

And he _still_ hasn't had that shower yet, either. Maybe that was Neville's goal all along, in order to feel better about his status as an irredeemable uggo.

"I hate him," Tyler tells his reflection, and he even almost sounds convincing enough to fool a deaf toddler. "Really, I do."

* * *

Tyler doesn't see Neville again for several days except for in passing, even though they're both at tapings and at the Performance Centre, and he almost manages to put the entire kissing incident out of his mind completely. He doesn't lose sleep over it, he doesn't suddenly think of it at the oddest times during the day, and he certainly doesn't find his stomach fluttering nervously any time he happens to pass Adrian briefly in a hallway or catch sight of him across the room in catering.

He also definitely doesn't notice that the other man always seems to be on the verge of speaking or reaching out, before something more urgent demands his attention instead. Because the live broadcast of the Arrival special event is approaching ever more rapidly with each passing day, and Adrian Neville is lucky enough to be challenging Bo Dallas for the championship in a ladder match.

Tyler's got a match of his own, too, against the unbelievably irritating uggo that is Xavier Woods, but he doesn't anticipate too much trouble. Woods is decent in the ring – he can admit to that much, at least – but he's got nothing on Tyler himself, least of all with the foolishness he keeps trying to pass off as personal grooming. Tyler would honestly like nothing more than to introduce the man to a decent barber and a tub of hot wax, but for now he'll settle for besting him in the ring.

He isn't counting on Rusev to spoil events, and Tyler's only thankful the Bulgarian Brute – and never has there been a more apt moniker, in his opinion, unless he finally manages to get 'The Man That Mother Nature Forgot to Make Good-Looking' to really take off – devotes the larger part of his attention to demolishing Woods. It means Tyler at least is able to walk away after the match is thrown out, while Xavier remains whimpering and twitching in the middle of the ring as Rusev snarls in Bulgarese or whatever language he actually speaks while his Russian lady-friend smirks by his side.

Tyler makes a note to never, ever compliment her on her fashion sense, no matter how snappy and snazzy it might be, because he's certain Rusev doesn't really have the initiative or motivation to interfere in random matches unless there's somebody like her telling him to. Not that the man's a complete lackwit or anything, but he just doesn't ever really seem interested in very much when left to his own devices. Lana, on the other hand, seems to have ambitions and plans for miles and miles, and Tyler is quite certain he really doesn't need to be involved in any of them even peripherally.

And he never talks to Rusev because of the language barrier, so it's not like there's a problem there. Really, when they're not interfering in matches they have no business being anywhere near, Rusev and Lana tend to keep to themselves, so they're not actually very difficult to avoid.

Definitely a good thing, since after that little display they're really not worth the effort of Tyler doing anything other than maybe kicking Rusev's head in sometime, if he can somehow manage it without suffering any retaliation as a result.

"This show isn't good enough to be worthy of a match from me anyway," Tyler mutters to himself, adroitly avoiding some hapless random member of the backstage crew as he stalks down the hallway towards his locker room. He's less fortunate with the second person that steps out in front of him, however, and Tyler only barely manages to catch himself to avoid falling over an equally startled Adrian Neville.

"Oh, good, I've been looking for you," Neville says, as soon as they both manage to catch their balance. "Sucks about the Rusev thing, but – do you have a minute to talk? I can even stroke your ego for a minute or two, if need be."

"Well, I suppose I have a few moments to spare," Tyler allows generously, frowning as Adrian licks his lips nervously – it seems to be a habit of his, actually, and no less distracting now for that knowledge. "This had better be worth my time, uggo."

"I'm not making any promises if you're just going to insult me."

He's led into Neville's locker room, which is unsurprisingly both smaller than Tyler's and one hundred percent more lacking in private showering facilities. He wonders idly for a moment if that will change if Adrian manages to win the title tonight. Tyler highly doubts it; Adrian is the furthest thing from the most forceful personality on the roster, and he's really not the type to take advantage of most championship perks. Unlike Bo Dallas, who took the opportunity to visit Disneyland and take a rather short and selective 'World Tour' – and the latter mostly just so that he would have an excuse to have that silly 'homecoming' celebration nonsense.

It's probably what Tyler would have done in his place, to be honest, if with a lot less playing nice with the uggo fans and a whole lot more jetting off to exotic locations to pamper himself. Neville, meanwhile, would probably just stay at NXT and wrestle a whole bunch of title matches or something, because unfortunately he's hideously unimaginative like that.

And also just hideous in general, but, well – and Tyler wishes he could be as convinced of that statement as he would have been even two weeks ago, he really does. But he's not, and now he's here to listen to whatever Neville has to say, where a couple of weeks ago, he wouldn't have even given him the time of day. Funny how kissing a person can really change your entire outlook on them – although he's never going to stop believing that Adrian has terrible taste in clothing, because it's absolutely true. He needs a personal stylist, stat.

"Are you ready for your match tonight?" Tyler asks after a moment of silence, since it seems Adrian's too wrapped up in his own thoughts to initiate a conversation himself. The other man blinks in surprise, before shaking his head like a restless dog.

"Ah, yeah, mostly, I guess? I dunno – on the one hand, it's only Bo, but on the other hand, it's Bo bloody Dallas, so, y'know. I'm not going to have to worry about you coming down to ringside and pulling him out of the way again, am I?"

"Excuse me; are you aware of what a ladder could do to my face?" Tyler asks indignantly. "As if I'm going anywhere near those monstrosities!"

"I didn't think about it like that," Adrian says with a smile, and there's definitely a teasing edge to his voice that Tyler shouldn't almost be enjoying – so he pouts instead, because that's safer. "Still, this isn't actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Tyler. D'you want to have a seat?"

"No," Tyler says churlishly, but he sits on the bench indicated anyway. Adrian sits down beside him, close enough that their thighs are just barely touching, and Tyler breathes in, slowly and deeply. "This is about last week, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. I've been trying to talk to you all week about it, actually, but something always seemed to come up just when I was going to try and grab you for a minute or two, y'know? So if we can start with first things first – why, Tyler?"

"Ugh, do we have to?" Tyler groans, tilting his head back and rolling his eyes dramatically. "I really don't know, okay? I mean, you were the one who was leaning all over the top of me and licking your lips and everything, and then you called me pretty, and I guess my brain short-circuited for a minute or something."

"You, ah, you weren't supposed to hear the 'pretty boy' bit," Adrian admits, looking away almost shyly. "I mean, it's hard, Tyler. You really, _really_ frustrate me most of the time, alright? And I think the worst part is that you're really not so bad? Like, you're really sort of bitchy and sarcastic, and it's great, because half the time it's like you're saying the stuff I'm thinking but not actually gonna say, because maybe I'm a bit too nice or something, I don't know. But you're also ridiculously arrogant and self-centred, and that's not so good, because then you do shit like interfere in title matches because you feel slighted over really small, petty stuff that could better be settled elsewhere – like, I dunno, a match next week maybe?"

"It wasn't petty," Tyler protests indignantly, nudging the other man with his shoulder until he's looking directly at him. "You slapped me in the face! I was only going to do my job as a lumberjack and throw you back in the ring!"

"I would have thought it was pretty obvious that I didn't need any help getting back in the ring," Adrian says irritably, before sighing heavily. "See, you're doing it again. That's really not the point, okay? The point is I want to like you, Tyler, I actually do, but you make it really hard sometimes. And I certainly wouldn't object to kissing you again or whatever, but I guess that was just a one-off; a temporary flight of insanity like you said, yeah?"

"Well, if we're being honest," Tyler says, and leans back so that he can swing a leg over and straddle the bench. It's a little bit uncomfortable, but it's worth it to be able to face Adrian and say this properly to his face. "You irritate me, Neville; you really do. You've got the worst taste in clothes, only marginally better taste in personal grooming, and your ears could keep a comedian in business for the rest of their life. I've never heard a more ridiculous accent that wasn't completely put-on, and somehow the only time you're ever funny is when you're insulting me so I can't even appreciate it, because you're being _rude_. And the worst part is that I can't even convince myself that I hate you. I can't hate you even half as much as I want to, which is like, the rudest thing of all. How _dare_ you be actually _likeable_?! Ugh!"

"Wow, Tyler," Adrian says after a moment of stunned silence. "Did you just manage to get through a tirade against me without calling me an 'uggo' even once? I'm actually really impressed. Good work."

"Shut up," Tyler grumbles, and he's not even surprised when Adrian leans over to kiss him. It's kind of nice, actually, and he leans into it almost without thinking, placing his hands on Adrian's thighs for balance and humming a little against Adrian's mouth when one of his hands finds the edge of Tyler's jaw and just rests there, warm and slightly rough against his skin.

A knock on the door startles them apart, and Tyler definitely isn't blushing when Adrian sighs and rolls his eyes before going to answer it. It turns out to be somebody from production, informing him that it's just about time for the main event, and Adrian makes all the appropriate noises before letting the door click shut and strolling back over to where Tyler is sitting, stripping out of his shirt quickly and efficiently on the way.

"Good luck," Tyler says, because he's not really sure what else to say. "Not that I think you need it, but still. That title's yours tonight."

"That it is," Adrian agrees, his stare taking on a distant edge as he double-checks his wrist tape. "I'll, uh, see you after the match?"

"If you want," Tyler says lightly. "It's not like I'm particularly difficult to find."

"Yeah, none of that leaving the building stuff," Adrian warns with a grin. "I want a victory kiss from the prettiest person in the building after I win my title, alright? And if you're not around, I'll have to default to trying to wheedle one out of Paige instead."

"You are not kissing that uggo," Tyler says decisively, rising in one graceful motion and stalking over to the door as Adrian pauses to look back at him expectantly. "She doesn't even know how to use fake tan, and I'm not letting you do that to yourself. If you want to find me, I'll be in my room."

"I'll be looking forward to it," Adrian promises in a low tone of voice, and it takes a moment to register that yes, he's actually being flirted with by Adrian Neville – a moment in which Neville has time to grin, pat Tyler almost mockingly on the cheek, and saunter off down the hall towards gorilla.

Really, it's just rude how much Tyler is failing to be offended by such a patronising gesture, and god, if this is what kissing Adrian Neville does to him, maybe he should just turn around and leave now while he still can. Except that he already knows he's not going to do that, otherwise he would have been out the door as soon as Adrian tried to kiss him.

For some reason he seems to have completely taken leave of his senses around the other man, and the worst part is that Tyler can't even say that he minds it all that much.


End file.
